The Hero of Grixis
by Ulquiorra9000
Summary: A Planeswalker-to-be is believed destined to lead his ragged people to glory on Grixis, the plane of death and madness.
1. The Iron Corps

The Hero of Grixis

Excerpt from a journal entry by the Planeswalker of Light and Hope, real name Harry, found in his private quarters in Valeron Castle:

I've met many people, thousands of them, over time, from all corners of the Multiverse. Some rich, some poor, some powerful, others meager. I can say, however, that the ones I've invested the most interest in are the downtrodden ones, the ones who cower and submit to power far above their own, who go to bed happy because they got to live for another day, regardless of their hardships. Why would I want to meet people such as this? Because they are the ones I save.

I've been considered a hero many times over, by many jubilant, ragged crowds hailing their savior who comes from the unknown and brings the light. Little do they know how little light there was in the place I came from, the dark Shard of Alara called Grixis. There, I learned what it means to be a hero, to be the avatar of what could be, should be, can be of those who do not have. I feel that that is why I was born in that place, to train me to know how to stand up against the evils in our land and bring hope to those who have none. Even if I wasn't born for that purpose, I have still made that my purpose, and I'll keep it for as long as I live. I owe others that.

Grixis, one of the five Shards of Alara

"Why does it have to be us today?" one of the soldiers of my Iron Corps complained, carrying his large, weathered, empty water bucket with one hand, swinging it out of nerves. "I hate being out here."

"Shut your yap," another snapped, tossing his somewhat long, scraggly hair out of his face, firmly gripping his. His name was Teragoth. "It's just the rotation shifts. Everyone's gotta take their turn. And everyone hates going outside the hermitage. Did you forget that?"

He was not one to cross; he had a pair of deep, heavy scars on his face, along with pockmarks and lines from diseases and venom of the many demons, ogres, and zombies that roamed about. He was considered a survivor, one not easily claimed by the cackling darkness that surrounded us day and night.

"Uh... uh... I guess I did," the first said, the agitation and trembling respect in his voice. "Um... I'll not complain anymore."

"Good," the first grunted, keeping vigil for the many marauders that roamed the gristly lands around here. "You're not the only one."

"Just keep quiet, everyone," I said, firmly but gently. The other nine in the water-gathering party complied, letting their sharp-eyed vigil do all the talking. It was utterly necessary; going out of my hermitage, a castle with its upper half blown off, meant risking your life every time. The only real security could be found in the hermitage. It was a relatively safe one, with sturdy castle walls and turrets to protect the few thousand people living inside, and a complex of underground warrens for added measure. The roof was built over the missing top, making a flat appearance; we made sure it was strong, to resist Kathari trying to dive-bomb through it. We had heard tales of suicide bomber Kathari doing that to other hermitages; we made sure it didn't happen to us.

"And here we are," I announced quietly, making sure to keep the positive, progressive feel up for which I was renowned. The large well, over ten feet wide, stood right at the top of the hill of hardened, dead flesh, a sentinel of the Dregscape that lay all around us. The gray stone echoed with the sound of slopping, cold water found below, the rickety rope descending into the well's gut. The water down there was one of the most vital components of our hard life in this insane world of death; no one else bothered with it, since the undead needed no sustenance and the Incurables, the mutated ogres, found water in the people they devoured. At least a little something was set aside for us! We had a saying that there were three essential things to life on Grixis: food, water, and the dead staying dead.

"I'll crank first," I said, operating the crank. The rope groaned and creaked as it brought up a large bucket of the liquid treasure found below. As soon as it was up, the first Iron Corps soldier tipped its cold contents into his transport bucket and backed away. Then, I lowered the well's bucket again, preparing for the second load.

As we worked our monotonous job, we kept out eyes, ears, and noses primed for detecting any danger. The daily runs to the well were safer than most sojourns across the plane, since the flesh hill had a hardened layer from disuse, reducing the appeal of zombies and Incurables going here. That was one of the reasons our hermitage existed where it did and endured. Even so, hair-raising howls and growls could be heard from all around, as well as flesh-hungry screeches of Kathari from overhead. And that didn't count the booming, crackling thunder and lightning that came from the dark, gray storm clouds overhead that could mask an incoming marauder's footsteps.

"Whew. Last one," the smallest member of this excursion, Ilathan, breathed with a sigh of relief, filling his bucket with water and backing away.

"All right. Let's get back now," I ordered, giving the hand signal to start the return journey. The others were more than happy to comply; we started off, our progress slowed by the heavy but precious water we carried, our rough but protective armor clanking and rattling slightly as we walked. The armor for the Corps had come from what was found in the castle when it was found by wandering humans and what we bartered for from trade caravans.

I was the founder and captain of the Iron Corps, a trained assembly of able-bodied men in the hermitage united to a single cause: defending our lives and survival against the endless death and necromancy around us. I had heard tales of other brave hermitages doing the same, and I was inspired by the act. We were hardly first-class warriors, but we were enough to keep smaller gangs of devils and skeleton barbarians at bay and out of our doors. Many people depended on and respected us, and I pressured myself to make sure they were not let down.

I had heard a saying from a trader in a caravan say, "The fates created Grixis to train the faithful," and I took the words to heart; how else to make determined soldiers than give them a foe they had to overcome every hour of every day? Of course, If I could choose, I would give them a humane place to sharpen their resolve, not this tomb of a Plane. But, there was nothing I could do to decide what our place to scrape a living in was like; I could only change how we handled it.

Our walk was in silence, the Iron Corps troopers even less willing to call attention to themselves now that they carried their heavy loads. Under attack, they would be forced to either abandon their water and come back empty-handed, or else possibly die trying to defend it. Neither option was all that appealing, so we kept our silence even as the hermitage came back into view, its presence a sight for sore eyes even if absent for only twenty minutes.

"There," Ilathan exclaimed out of relief, slopping a bit of his water in his excitement, as he pointed at it. This was only his second time going on a water-gathering trip as a member of the Iron Corps.

"Shut up," another soldier hissed, his name Dorhan. "You wanna get us killed?"

"Well, excuse me if I'm glad to see the place that protects me from a horrible death out here," Ilathan retorted, getting clumsy. "You know, when I chose to join the Iron Corps --"

His sentence was cut off when he lost his footing and slipped, his bucket going flying and spreading its contents all over the place. Worse, Ilathan's heavy armor broke through the thin, hard layer over the dead flesh that made up the hill, and soft, stinking flesh oozed out. Worse, Ilathan began to tumble to the bottom, and had to seize a thick rib bone sticking out of the hill to stop himself; the rib tore out, exposing even more flesh. Ilathan, bucket and rib included, tumbled to the very bottom of the hill, and he groaned in the bruises he received and the knowledge of what was about to happen.

Dorhan cursed. "You idiot!" he raged. "Got distracted and had to fall, huh? Now look what you've done! We're dead! Thanks to you!"

"Shut it and get down there to help him!" I barked, trying to keep order as the other Iron Corps troopers got worked up, their bitterness and fear of their lives empowering them against their clumsy companion. "We don't have much time! We can all still make it!"

"All right, all right!" Dorhan cried, respecting my authority but feeling the pressure nonetheless. The nine of us hurried down the flesh hill, not bothered by the holes we punched in the hard layer by our running footsteps. We knew what was coming, and it fueled our haste. We feared the worse, and it arrived with a hungry chorus of growls wafting just on the other side of the hill through the thick, deathly air.

"Incurable! Big one!" one of the troopers cried, witnessing the beast stomping toward us, as we reached Ilathan and helped him up. Indeed, a massive Incurable ogre, one of the biggest I had ever seen, was lumbering toward us; its gnarled fingers dragged the ground due to its long arms, its jaw was long and wicked, and a thick tentacle was firmly attached to the thing's chest. Typical.

"Let's go!" I urged everyone, starting to run. It would certainly seem cowardly or dishonorable to greater societies, if they existed, to see a squad of armored warriors fleeing a single foe, but not us. This was the plane where those who lived to 40 were considered gods on earth and honored daily. There was no room for pride or honor to get in the way of survival.

The Incurable didn't care either way. Lured by the scent of flesh, the creature's sense of smell told it of a good late afternoon meal, apparently hungry enough to settle for the rotting material of the Dregscape. Imagine how it would like fresh meat! The thought of food drove the beast to give chase, running much faster than we could run from it, even though we grudgingly abandoned the water load we carried.

"Wretch!" I cursed, drawing my sword, a long claymore, slicing one of the Incurable's fingers fingers as it reached for me. The others prepared for combat, drawing their swords, maces, or morning stars, prepared to defend their lives. In response, the Incurable gave a bellow and swept its claws, upward. Even hacking at its shins and drawing its blood did not distract it; one of us was caught and flung upward, high into the air, writhing and screaming. The tentacle melded onto the Incurable's chest, undoubtedly by necromantic magic, shot forth and impaled the man, nearly killing him; he could only groan and twitch.

The Incurable then swept its claws again, catching a second trooper and joining him with the first on the tentacle. Then, the foul beast opened its maw and slid both men into its mouth and chewed, like a shish kebab skewer. The iron crunched loudly as the beast's jaws worked.

"Come on! We can down it!" I exclaimed, rallying the others, who trembled, prepared to run. "We just have to know how to dodge its attack and strike its weak point!"

"That being...?" one asked, watching the Incurable warily, hoping to not be its next meal.

"Next time it flings someone up, they must cut its tentacle," I explained hurriedly, watching the beast finish eating and come for us. "While it's distracted, the rest of us focus on one of its legs and downs it, then we behead it. Ready... go!"

There was no more time to explain the plan; the Incurable was ready for its second course. This time, however, it found resistance; the trooper who allowed himself to get flung was an expert in timing, and his sword hacked the last quarter off the tentacle, his mid-air timing impeccable. As the Incurable roared and stomped in agony, the rest of us converged on its trunk-like left leg, severing the flesh until the beast was forced to its knees. Doing so admittedly made us even easier to reach, so we compensated by retreating to its backside.

"Help me up!" I ordered, as the beast started to turn around in its kneeling position, desperate to keep its scurrying dinner within reach. "I'll get on its back and stab it's neck. It's the fastest way to take it down. Now!"

The others complied, kneeling and locking their hands together to make a platform that I stepped onto, then climbed onto the beast's back. It was not easy maintaining my footing there; the Incurable knew one of the measly little humans was crawling around on its back, and was determined to swipe me off; however, a number of grotesque protrusions on its skin made for good handholds. The Incurable managed to stagger shakily to its feet, trying to twist to throw me off; determined, I climbed the protrusions on its back, then pulled back my sword and dug it deep into the beast's neck, making it jerk. I withdrew my claymore and struck again, severing the nerves between the vertebrae.

I was granted with success; the Incurable gave one last howl, then went limp and fell again, this time completely, its massive, ugly body sprawling as its blood poured onto the fleshy ground. Without a doubt, Kathari scavengers would be on the site within minutes.

"You did it!" one of the troopers, Goran, cheered as I climbed down, sweaty and shaking but exuberant. He raised a fist in the air. "Only two of us were lost to take it down!"

"Hey, you! don't disrespect the dead! Especially the newly dead!" Teragoth, the scarred veteran, snarled, sheathing his sword. "Did you forget that two human lives were lost and we have nothing to bring back to the castle? And you want to celebrate?" He was in the other man's face, spit flying.

"Stand down," I said wearily, noting to keep Teragoth away from newer members in the future; I would have to consult the shift managers. "Just be thankful that _most _of us survived. We might make another run this evening. Less traffic then."

"Whoa. You're going out here _again _tomorrow?" the new member said to me in shock and admiration, his eyes wide.

"Can't live without the goods," I said, giving a grim smile, motioning for everyone to follow me. "Just keep it down. The Kathari'll be here any minute, and their ears are as good as their noses."

The rest of the return trip to the hermitage was uneventful, except for the sounds of hungry Katahri swooping down from the sky and tearing chunks of greasy meat from the Incurable's body and gulping them down.

-------------------------------------

Card List

Incurable Ogre* 3R

Creature - Ogre Mutant

5/1

*Liberties were taken.


	2. Victoria and Rolf

"Harry!" a familiar and lovely voice exclaimed, once I emerged from the Iron Corps barracks located in the hermitage castle's east wing. I ran a hand through my brown hair, hoping that my sweat hadn't made it cling or clump too much. My clothing clung a little tightly, though I knew it would loosen sooner or later. I heaved a deep breath, trying to return to my indoors mentality.

"Evening, my love," I said kindly, embracing my fiancée as she came from around the bend. I inhaled again, this time smelling the sweet scent of Victoria's hair; it was sweet to me, at least. We parted, and I saw that she was wearing her evening finery, a dark blue dress with long gloves. Why was that again?

"You're back just in time," Victoria told me, glad to see me again. "After you took extra long to come back, I feared that you and your company ran into trouble."

"Actually, we did," I said, trying to sound offhand about it. "Incurable, a big one. Right after Ilathan accidentally broke the flesh hill layer. I have to tell him to be more careful..."

"I'm just happy you've returned, especially on this day," Victoria told me, taking my hand and starting down the hall, wanting me to come along. The rough, gray stone walls could make for confusing passageways, but everyone here knew the hermitage inside-out, even telling apart some of the rough torches on the walls apart from others, different blood and grime stains from others.

"Um, I kind of forgot why," I admitted, feeling silly.

"It's your grandmother's 60th birthday!" Victoria reminded me, sounding exasperated but amused, taking us down a wide flight of steps. She was only that old because people on Grixis had children early in their lives, for obvious reasons. "Aldalone, she wants you there as her guest of honor. I know, again, it hasn't been your mother or father in a while. But she loves you so much... her dear grandson, the one who helps defend us from the evils outside... Why... I should..."

Even with many other inhabitants of the hermitage walking all about, most en route to the grand dining hall, she produced a comb and applied it to my hair, determined to make it straight and presentable. She fussed with my clothing, too, knowing that there wasn't enough time for me to change; I had barely made it back in time to attend Aldalone's party at all. Once I was presentable, Victoria allowed me to escort her the rest of the way to the dining hall, arms together.

"Are you going to make a speech of any kind?" she asked, as we came close to the open wooden doors, the chatter from the hall growing louder.

"Two," I said, with a smile.

"Really? I hope not recruitment," Victoria laughed. "Almost everyone who would want to join your Corps already has. Everyone wants to help protect us."

"Not that," I replied. "Well, it does relate to the Iron Corps, but you'll have to see what I'm planning. I hope you'll approve of it. And the other... you'll have to see about that one, too."

"Is it him? Is it? Indeed it is! Grandson!" old Aldalone wheezed, in her version of merriment, breaking away from her aides, her sharp, vulture-like eyes alighting upon me. She moved surprisingly fast for a lady of her age, her black, ragged cloak and robes swishing as she made her uneven progress toward me. I corrected my posture and said, "Good evening, Grandmother. I'm honored to see you this evening dedicated to you."

"Ohhh, your manners get better every time," Aldalone said, raising a withered, claw-like hand and pinching my cheek. I let it slide, knowing who she was. Powerful sorceresses were allowed to do what they wanted. "Your mother and father raised you well, now didn't they?" she cackled.

"Yes, they have," I nodded, hands clasped behind my back. "Are they here already?"

"Indeed they are, they are, right up at the family table," Aldalone said, pointing toward the said table. I could see the living portion of my family there, the ones not too sick or weak to arrive. During every banquet in honor of those over 40, there was a special table at the north end of the hall for the honored one's family; this time, mine. "They're having a grand old time, they are. Why, yes."

She smiled to herself, her uneven and yellowed teeth bared past her cracked lips, her scraggly white hair falling to the sides of her head from under her raven-black hood. Clearly finished talking to me, she ran her tongue over her teeth and hobbled away, depending on her wooden staff for support. Her conversations were typically brief; she believed in only "bare bones conversations," a fitting term for this grim plane. That tongue of hers frequently danced behind her chipped teeth even when she wasn't talking, silently voicing the many prophetic visions she had, rehearsing them for a maximum creep-you-out effect when telling them to the appropriate people. It came from her years of servitude under Unksor Rahn, the Death Baron who ruled the land our hermitage was situated on.

She was not one to be presumed dangerous; despite serving for years around dangerous and manipulative undead minds, she was hardly corrupted; the only reminder of her time was the visions she often had at unexpected times. She was a powerful sorceress, being able to withstand Unksor's repeated attempts to fully control her and possibly kill her to make her his undead servant. She had returned years later, greeted by a storm of suspicion and fear; however, it was all for naught. Our best wizards deemed her harmless, so to speak, and free of Unksor's control. Her visions were often either trivial or beneficial in the never-ending conflict against Unksor's twisted undead legions. Besides that, the people were longing for a living symbol of human endurance and defiance in the face of undeath and madness, and Aldalone was a perfect case. That, combined with the scans to check for necromantic control being negative, made her well-accepted in the hermitage.

I took my seat with my family, besides my father and beyond him, my mother. Victoria, being my fiancée, was given a seat on my other side. Aldalone herself sat upon the chair for the honored one. She was one of only three people currently alive over the age of 40; the most at one time had been thirteen, the least, none. Everyone in the hall chattered amongst themselves, not touching the food or wine, until at last, the host of the event and his wife emerged into the dining hall, and everyone fell silent.

"Good ladies and gentlemen," the Count Rochenbad, ruler of the hermitage, called out, commanding silence to emerge. "I am honored to welcome you this evening to tonight's banquet of honor, dedicated to Mrs. Aldalone, a wise and powerful sorceress, one of our living symbols of human strength and defiance against the undead hordes!"

He gestured toward the woman of interest, and she cackled and chuckled at the storm of applause in her honor; she often made on uneasy to be around her, but her ways were well tolerated. At least she was clearly enjoying the attention.

"Now, Mrs. Aldalone, do you have any words to spare us before we begin?" the Count asked her. Aldalone thought to herself for a minute, rubbing her chin in thought, looking up.

"Live, eat, prosper, do all those things you like to to," she said to the loud hall. "Fate's gonna take 'em anyway sooner than later, so you do them while you can! Heh heh, to life!" she said gleefully, raising her goblet and taking a long draught. Everyone else followed suit, not surprised by Aldalone's frank views on life on Grixis; indeed, everyone died before their time – everyone – so why wait on the things you want to do with your life?

The banquet got underway, the chatter volume rising once again, now with the clink of silverware added in. A boom of thunder sounded overhead, not startling or scaring anyone; the perpetual gray cloud cover had frequent thunderstorms, something everyone got used to early in their lives. Another boom, rattling the walls. No one could be bothered.

After perhaps an hour and a half of dining and merriment provided by musicians and storytellers, the time came for Count Rochenbad and his wife to give their usual speech about survival and the importance of the human race. Not many were interested in his words, being the same tired ones from every year. Instead, everyone was waiting for me to talk, knowing ahead of time that I had two short speeches prepared. Victoria nudged me, and I stood, and everyone sat at rapt attention.

"Everyone," I said clearly and boldly, my charisma at work. I swept my eyes along the hall, taking in every ragged and haunted-looking person within, then continued. "I know that the happenings within our castle home are for everyone to know, and if we are to make it, then no one must go ignorant. I have an important piece of news, and it will tie in with my second. I have spoken to the proper people, and it has been decided: Victoria and I are to be married tomorrow morning, sooner than planned. I invite anyone interested to attend."

There was a second of silence, then everyone cheered and clapped, eager for another bit of light to enter their lives. The tradition of marriage in Grixis' hermitages were hardly comparable to those of Planes I would later visit, but even so, they provided much for the morale and cheer of the people living here. It was one of those things that wasn't really done properly or with its full meaning, but it still gave us _something _to hold on to. I bowed my head, humbled by attention.

"Yes, it's quite exalted news," I said, knowing that Victoria was the Count's niece, and being "nobility," this was no small matter. There was no real noble blood anywhere on Grixis; we merely gave that title to those related to the leaders, to give some semblance of a healthy and normal society. Again, like the marriages, it was better than nothing, and served as a distraction from the grim work of survival every day. Some hermitages didn't even have the privilege of marriage or nobility; we counted ourselves fortunate. "However."

Silence fell again, like an invisible blanket smothering the sound. The second piece of news would be far more interesting.

"I have also consulted my seconds-in-command and the noble family, and they have supported one of the most important decisions I have ever made. In five days, in the morn, we will gather every able-bodied man here and march on Unksor Rahn's fortress... and slay him, freeing us of his rule forever. It is this... or we perish."

There were many gasps, exclamations, buzzing chatter in the wake of the news. I had shaken the hive; it was time to make use of that.

"True, we have lived secure here in our castle home," I said, sweeping my arms around the hall. "A fairly workable and sane life, compared to what some others must endure. But... in the end, what does it come to? Are we merely postponing the inevitable, putting a shiny coat on our delay? I don't think that's any kind of legacy to leave to our descendants! I, for one, do not want my children and grandchildren to remember me as the one who allowed us to sit on our rears, allowing the tyranny and evil of our land to wander free!" I held up a fist to breast level, looking at for effect. "I don't want to be known as 'Harry the Undecided' or 'Harry the Afraid'! I choose to fight, I choose to resist, I choose to make a difference for myself, for all of us, for all of humankind! Why cower in the dark, putting off what we know will come? What use is that extra time we buy ourselves? Better to reach for the light, I say, its glory shining in our eyes, its allure kindling pure hope and reason in our hearts! If we are to survive, why not live in a better place, a better life? If we are to fail in this, what better way to die than reaching for the light, then? We go down fighting, daring to make a difference and try for better, the light still in our hearts, if not in our hands!"

I lowered my hand, looking up, adopting a calmer tone, knowing that every ear strained to hear every word that I spoke. "Some may argue my merits, claim that I lead you on a fruitless suicide charge, that I risk everything we have fought to build and protect. Well, I say, what good is it if we are slowly claimed by the dark no matter what we do? If I am to succeed, we can have so much more! If I am to fail, then, as I said before, we died with purpose and daring and vigor! If we succeed, we can rebuild humanity in this land, even creating... a nation. Humans from all about will gather, rallied to our cause, driving back the darkness until it learns to respect us or be destroyed! It can be done. Or rather, I _believe _it can be done. That's what makes us human and not undead scum: we have dreams, hopes, feelings of feast-or-famine. We dare to be different. And now, we dare to make it count." I knew one person to whom these points applied, and I scanned the tables and found him: Rolf, Victoria's brother, sat with his father, scowling up at me and exchanging brief, quiet words with his father.

To finish my speech, I said, "Well. I have given you my merits. In five days, we march. My resolve is harder than any iron we of the Iron Corps wear. All who choose to join me must meet me by the gates at first light at the specified day. The rest of you, stay back... and hope." I sat, knowing that there was no taking this back. Chatter began to rise, all about what I had said. Some men stood and shouted their allegiance to me and my daring plan, a few others shouting down my merits, some weeping with the monumental might of what I was saying. After all, in under a week, we would all be free of Unksor's rule... or all dead. It was a lot to consider.

I knocked on the fairly smooth wooden door, and the voice within permitted me to enter. Finally in proper clothing and not under-armor, I entered the candle-lit room, closing the door behind me with a soft thump. I took a few more steps into the room, my air much quieter, and more anxious, than it had been at Aldalone's banquet of honor. Victoria, who had been enveloped in a thin book from her bookcase, got up, setting down her book and smoothing her hair behind her ears, coming toward me. She wrapped her arms around me in an affectionate hug that I accepted, and I kissed the top of her head.

"I'm so happy," she breathed, her delicate hands lightly patting my back. "We're going to be married at last... I've been waiting for this."

"Me too," I added, caressing her shoulder. "The people need something calming and affectionate before we march. That's what makes us human. We can be tender, and we can strike against our foes. Isn't that how we've survived this long?"

"Oh, Harry, stop that," Victoria said with a small laugh, a smile on her face. "That's your tough commander side talking. Here, you're my husband-to-be. My uncle, as well as my father, is going to be so happy. The Countess, too. They feel that they've needed their family to come to something, and having their niece in the Harry the Great's family does it well. It's only a shame that my mother isn't here for this."

"Ha ha, is that what they're calling me now?" I chuckled. "People have called me a lot of names, but that one's new."

"I only invented it just now," Victoria said, parting with me and tapping my heart. "Because you're a leader to everyone else, but a great man to me."

"Why, thank you," I said warmly, wandering over to a chair to have a seat. I had a good look at Aldalone's room, a study and bedroom in one. Her room was situated in the northeast tower of the castle, or what was left of it, designated as the section for royalty. There was a wooden desk, with parchment and quills, some unfinished letters and documents; a bookcase, containing volumes including the one she had been reading; candle holders to provide light as opposed to torches, a thick glass window, and a rare painting on the wall.

The subject was a regal yet charming woman, Victoria's deceased mother, seated with her hands on her lap. She wore a flowing dress of black and dark red, a necklace of gold at her neck, her dark hair up in a bun. Her skin was flawless, smooth, perfect, her eyes clear and loving. I knew that the woman's appearance was a romantic view; in order to respect her memory, the traveling painter who had made this picture made her appear pristine, beautiful, unaffected by the zombies and disease and swarms of flesh-eating insects that dominated the land and everyday life.

In fact, there really was no escaping it; absolutely everyone alive had disease or toxins in their bodies, from anything: the water we drank, the food we ate, the air we breathed. But in memory of the loved ones lost, there was only calm perfection, in that eternal world.

I found a chair, a rough wooden one, and pulled it into range, then feeling utter mental and physical fatigue, I collapsed into it, sighing into my hands.

"Harry?" Victoria asked, concerned. She came before me, rested a hand on my shoulder. "What is it?"

"Ohhhhh." I lowered my hands, looking up at her beautiful face tinted with concern. "Ohhh, Victoria. I don't know. I... don't know." My energy from the banquet had died out, leaving cold ashes.

"What don't you know?" Victoria inquired. "You can tell me."

I gave a look around her quarters, taking in the strained attempts at an appearance of class and wealth in this land of eternal poverty of all types. How much there was to me, despite the meager settings! I felt its weight within my heart. "I... I'm not sure. About this whole thing. About marshaling the Corps to assault Unksor's city fortress, bringing the peace and hope I promised. Have I just set our doom in motion? Have I jeopardized everything we've worked for after all?"

"Harry..." Victoria said gently, listening, withdrawing her hand, clasping it with the other.

"But then I think, I can't wimp out. I've set this forth and I have to be strong. Have I run out of strength, though? Have we all given every ounce of our energy just to make it to this point, and left ourselves nothing to go farther with? I fear the worst in this. The future can only have two outcomes, and suddenly I'm not sure I like this fork in the road at all. I"m risking everyone's life. The Count's life. Your life. It..."

"That's enough, now. Listen," Victoria said firmly, now placing both hands on my shoulders. "Don't be like that. This isn't the Iron Corps commander I know. We didn't just make it this far because we have extra resources and strength. We got her because we have _you, _strong, determined leadership, a living example of why we fight and exist! Don't do this. Whether you want to assault Unksor's city fortress or just remain here, you must choose and be firm. Know what to do, and give it your all. Leadership is all about commitment, isn't it?"

"Yes," I agreed, starting to feel more hopeful. "I... it is too late to call off the attack, isn't it, everyone riled up." I took a deep breath. "It will be. I'll assault Unksor's fortress, and we'll gain our salvation or die trying, no matter what. The dice have been thrown. All I can do now is hope for the best. All our lives depend on this. Even mine and yours."

"And one more," Victoria added, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Who?" I asked, puzzled, getting up. Rather than speak, Victoria now took hold of one of my wrists and pressed my open hand to her abdomen, her cool, soft dress feeling good on my palm. I felt something else, too... a gently curving mound, the shelter for the new life growing within. My stomach jumped.

"You're pregnant," I whispered, hardly believing it even as I said it. Miscarriages were unsurprisingly common on Grixis, with the first trimester having an average 30% mortality rate. This baby of ours making it to four months was a real feat of survival.

"Yes," Victoria said equally softly, moving my hand. "The strongest man has a family to protect. That's what I've heard. The whole castle is, in a way, your family, Harry. But even more, there's the three of us here. Already, we have a little ray of light in our lives."

"Okay. That settles it," I breathed, standing up tall. The inner demons of doubt and despair squealed and ran from the raging fires of purpose and urge to protect that roared through me, unifying every cell in my body to a lone cause – victory! There could be no loss with these stakes. Somehow, the thought of becoming a parent, at the good age of 20, bolstered me. "Absolutely no turning back. Victoria, I will march across that hellscape and vow not to set foot back in these halls until Unksor is a defeated pile of ash in his foul den! For you. For me. For everyone..."

I knelt, speaking to the tiny baby, probably only four months along, "for you. You'll grow up in a proper place, where people don't fear the outside and can be merry and safe wherever they tread. On my word. You can survive and endure, I will do the same, for your sake too."

I stood, and embraced my fiancée again, a passionate kiss added this time.

"Thank you, Harry," Victoria told me, her eyes alight with passion and happiness, two things I wanted never to see extinguished. "For everything. Good night."

"Sleep well," I bid her, opening the door and closing it, striding down the barren hall, intent on reaching my own bed in the barracks for sleep. In little time, I would share a room with Victoria, and we would never be apart. That thought gladdened me.

However, heavy and angry footsteps behind me made me slow to a stop, and I turned to behold Rolf, Victoria's brother, making his way toward me, his anger clear even in the dim torchlight. I stood my ground, prepared.

"Evening, Rolf," I greeted him, knowing greeting was pointless. "What is..."

"You," he glowered, stepping right up to me and jabbing a finger right to my chest. "How you dare! You dare to do this to her. To me. To everyone! You...!"

"What?" I prompted, feeling defiant but not sharing his anger. A shouting match or fistfight would settle nothing, and I knew it.

Rolf motioned all around with his arms, hissing his next words with venom, his eyes sharing his voice's hate. "Look all around you! All this we worked to build, the lives we protect, the progress we've made. You think to bring it all to ruin with your suicide march on Unksor's necropolis fortress!"

"I've been over this too many times to be convinced by you," I retorted. "I know the risks I'm taking, but I know what we stand to gain, and what we will degenerate to if we remain holed up forever. It's too late to take back what's been done. In five days we march."

"Do you know the folk tale... 'The Hopeful but Hopeless Survivors'?" Rolf leered, his hands fists.

"Yes, I know it," I said, "What does it have to do with..."

"You know how the tales goes," Rolf went on. "One day, a ragged, wounded band of human survivors were found in the Dregscape by a wandering necromancer. He knew they had little time left before the teeming undead devoured them. However, for his own amusement, the necromancer enchanted the humans to ward off all undead and left them. Days later, the necromancer found them again, them being healthy and getting close to their hermitage for safety. So, the necromancer dispelled his enchantments and watched as the undead swarmed in and devoured the humans. 'That was their fate,' the necromancer said, then left. Do you see why I mention this?"

"Just a tale," I scoffed. "Everyone knows that one, about challenging fate."

"And yet you attempt it! On the largest scale possible!" Rolf accused. "You play the necromancer, thinking to give us a little borrowed time then take it with a single move! Why not keep the humans in one place and keep the enchantments? We'll die trying to reach our 'noble' goal. Why invite the fates to intervene before we get too far?"

"Think of what would have happened if the necromancer had forgotten, or stopped caring," I rebutted him. "You know that the fates can never be predicted. One of humanity's greatest gifts is hope and optimism. If we lose that and our other qualities, why are we worth preserving? We'd just be living, empty husks."

Rolf's jaw worked, as he could offer no argument to this. He deepened the frown on his face, jabbed a finger at me and whispered, "Traitor," and whirled around, stomping off into the gloom. I did not follow him or shout anything; there was no more to say. In fact, I felt bad for him, and no anger or malice: he was merely afraid, feeling protective of his sister and family. He wanted everyone to live to see the day when he would be an uncle, and his sister a mother. Family ties and values were steep in hermitages, with many humans crammed into a single structure, the minority in this plane. His anger was understandable, but it would not move me; I knew the arguments, and I was set in what I was going to do. I had made sure of that.


	3. Unksor Rahn

The preparations for the planned assault on Unksor's fortified necropolis took every waking hour of the five days I had provided. Not only did the troops need personal preparation, for equipment and mind, but my tacticians had to get the assault perfected on paper, and many others needed to prepare the hermitage for the absence of its Iron Corps defenders. Every available method of defense would be enacted, from a wooden beam across the front doors, to sturdy window shutters, to enchantments, and more besides.

I had visited every part of the castle and the warrens underneath, helping my officers and Count Rochenbad's men oversee and manage everything. One place I visited was the underground farms, which supported pigs, chickens, and an assortment of tubers, leafy greens, and mushrooms, all grown by magic, precious resources, and faith. There was enough soil here under the fleshy, disgusting ground layer above to make plant growth viable, one reason the castle was built here and still inhabited.

Another place I wound up visiting the morgue, where my family made its business. Not surprisingly, it was big business. All deceased people are first purged of their diseases and poisons by the mages' best efforts, then after the bodies are blessed, they are purified and cremated, the ashes enchanted to ward off necromancy just in case. There were no believable reports of necromancers or demons making zombies out of ashes, but we didn't exactly have the luxury of doubt. Ashes were stored in many square holes in a side passage, all closed with tiny wooden doors and a heavy lock each, along with plaques bearing the deceased peoples' names.

Skittering about these various places were many of the children, who sensed that great changes were taking place, and many more to come. They often got about to playing their games and other antics, a usual hobby that intensified during the preparation times. The bothersome part was the nature of their games, something that the adults scolded them for. They played the "Death Baron game," taking turns pretending to be one of the many undead rulers that antagonized us, holding mock battles and pretending to resurrect each other as zombies. A few people found it funny, but most others found it distasteful. I had to admit that I was one of the former, though I didn't show it.

"Commander. It's morn," the voice told me, and I felt a hand shaking my shoulder to rouse me. It was the appointed fifth day, and I recognized the speaker and hand owner as being Karjulda, my second in command. I sat up, my armor clanking as I moved; I was in the barracks, getting an extra long night of sleep before the assault on Unksor Rahn's necropolis. I had been strained and worked hard over the past few days, so the need for a respite was great. Now was when all the effort would either come to fruition or come to waste. I, and the rest of the Iron Corps, fully intended to make it count for everything.

Once the full Iron Corps was assembled: soldiers, pike men, archers, and platoon leaders, I gave them a short rally talk impressing the importance of today's events on them, then we began our march to the necropolis. We were not disturbed while we went; often, undead activity was a little lower during the morning hours, which was why the first water run of a typical day took place at this time. No water gathering for today; we sought victory!

"Ummm... Commander?" Karjulda asked me, speeding up to walk abreast with me; I was at the front of the procession.

"What is it?" I asked. "Have we been seen?"

"N... no, Commander," Karjulda said, sounding quite nervous. "It's the opposite. We haven't run into _anything. _We're deep in Rhan's territory. Shouldn't there be scouts or something?"

"Perhaps they watch from afar, choosing not to get an early start on us," I said, trying to calm my second-in-command down. "The undead can be quite wily, as you know. No matter what Unksor or his minions are scheming, however, they will fall this day. They must."

Karjulda looked reassured by my words, and said no more, until the necropolis itself came into view. No one knew the true name of the place or how long it had been a city of the dead, but many insisted that it used to be named Bladghost, a city of light. Certainly not now! Every building, every tower and hovel there, was crumbling, had slime and fetid matter of the undead, had dark interiors that spoke of a silent, quick doom. Nothing moved or made a sound there, as though the city were itself a corpse devoid of life and vigor. Somewhere in there, maybe in the capital hall Unksor awaited. His wait was at an end.

I raised a hand for the Iron Corps to halt, and everyone did. As I would learn later, when living on the plane of Bant, sieges like this one began with volleys of arrows, trebuchet loads, and a battering ram. Not for us, however; we had only the armor on our backs and the weapons in our hands, and limited arrow supplies. We would have to march right in through the main gates, where the undead would be waiting for us. I gripped my sword tight, reviewing my own words to ward off the demons of doubt that crept into my mind. Win or lose, it was too late to turn back now, and we had too much to gain to not do what we were doing.

Karjulda and I organized everyone by platoon and weapon type, and once ready, we began our charge toward the gates, a cry of the stubborn, determined, _living _attackers charging at either freedom or doom. Finally, Unksor's foul defenders made themselves seen, rising to the smell and sound of living flesh to devour and corrupt. I saw misshapen zombies clawing their way from the foul earth, moaning and gnashing their cracked teeth. Skeletal Kathari swooped from the clock towers, their wings flapping with unholy magic to permit fleshless flight. Possessed Incurables lumbered toward us, accompanied by undead beasts of burden. Their necromancer mage support followed behind.

"For life! For freedom!" I bellowed, and everyone yelled with me again as we began to hack and slash at Unksor's defenders. Some us fell, some of them fell, all of us struggled for life or continuing undeath as the battle raged over a hazy stretch of time. When your life and freedom against the undead was at stake, everything, including time, was warped and contorted. I myself took part in the chaos, reducing many undead fiends to pieces as I swung and slashed at their unyielding ranks. It was hard to tell whether we were gaining or losing the advantage; we pressed slowly further into the necropolis, walking across a brick road that I was sure no living thing had set foot on for a long time.

"Harry! I think we're winning!" Karjulda cried, finding his way towards me, finishing off a red-skinned devil intent on gnawing off his fingers, then one of the Iron Corps soldiers, whom had been raised from the dead by a necromancer mage. "We're gaining ground and their numbers diminish faster than ours. Do you have any new orders?"

I opened my mouth to tell him to consolidate our forces for safety in numbers, before pointing at one of the building's tops. I changed my words: "Prepare the men to fight that thing."

"That what..." Karjulda started, before gaping at the massive, undead, two-headed dragon advancing on us from the skies. The thing was massive, a skeleton with tatters of flesh remaining, its wings flapping with necromantic energies. Both heads gave blood-chilling screeches of hunger before exhaling white, sparkling clouds of gas. Or rather, ice storms. The dragon's breath settled over some of the Iron Corps soldiers, slowing their movements and sapping their life energy, their vis as some called it. Worse, the two-headed dragon took potshots at us, swiping some of us away as it dipped into range them back to a safe height.

"Focus all the archers on it!" I roared for anyone to hear; I could not find Karjulda. "And when it comes for another fun, focus on destroying its hands! One finger at a time if you must!"

The soldiers complied, focusing the brunt of their effort on the newest, and biggest, threat. They succeeded in wrecking the dragon's left front paw, making it grunt in protest. Instead of renewing its attack, however, it retreated, flapping farther into the necropolis and out of attack range. I felt hope beginning to well inside of me; had we won? If we to drive off such a thing, what was to become of the rest of Unksor's forces? The Iron Corps attackers drove the undead further into the city, gaining steady ground and wearing their foes' numbers thin. Even undead reinforcements spilling from the buildings were not enough to stop us for long.

Just when I felt the taste of victory driving my heart into overdrive, something happened. I could hear thousands of disembodied voices, moaning and crying and wailing. It seemed to come from all over; the battlefield fell silent, humans and undead alike halting their struggle.

"What... is that?" a soldier gasped, blood steaming from his ruined left eye. I gripped my sword extra tightly out of fear, my eyes darting about as they sought the eerie chorus' source. Then, it was all over in a matter of seconds; a wall of gray and purple spirits welled from the city's center, flowing outward like a flood. The quick-moving souls made short work of everything they touched; humans and undead alike were withered and reduced to ash in seconds, the battlefield emptying out. Being near the rear by now, I watched, hardly believing my eyes, as both sides were eroded to nothing. Our victory... Unksor's downfall... had we achieved it? Had we lost? Or was a third force moving in to claim us both? A rival Death Baron or Lich Lord taking advantage of us?

This was not so. A lone, bulky figure crept closer in the gloom, and the mass of spirits backed off and parted to make room. I wasn't sure whether the spirits were under its control or not; they had obliterated the Iron Corps soldiers rather than make them zombies. Either way, I realized with dread that the figure was Unksor Rahn himself; there was nothing else it could be.

Unksor gave a raspy, chilling exhalation from his mouth, clearly an audio command for the spirits to back off. So they were his after all.

I started to back away, dropping my sword with a clang, desperate to find a way to escape. I was having a hard time even taking in the fact that my bid for freedom had been utterly wiped out, let alone a way to fight back. I had lost, and there was no second chance, for me or the rest of the castle hermitage. I felt no shame or loss, only animal fear and dread.

Unksor himself, tall and rotund with tattered black cloaks and an iron mask over the top half of his face, gave a hideous chuckle, his skeletal chest heaving. "Do not flee, pitiful one," he told me from afar, drawing closer, walking with the aid of his staff. A single human skull was at the end of it, gripped by Unksor's wretched hand. "There is no escape for you. None."

"You... demon!" I said wildly, knowing that his words were true. It was no use. "You..."

"I thank you for this, meager one," Unksor went on, demeaning me and addressing me in one, now quite close. He smelled like death, not to my surprise. "Such boredom I have felt, with this lack of interesting events. Who would have guessed... that the humans in that castle would march on my doorstep? I had not felt such exhilaration in a long time."

"Don't you try to act human!" I spat. "You're just a creature who kills and terrorizes with no thought or conscious!"

Unksor chuckled again. "Not so," he said. "I was once human myself, until I was brought back and began my long ascent to power. However, I have not truly had a chance to test myself until now. Why, must I ask, was this done? Did you really dream of victory?"

My mind raced, assembling the pieces of the reason that had led me to stage this attack. "I had to," I told him, feeling my reason encourage me. If I were to die now, I would at least spend it letting Unksor see a tiny window into the precious humanity he enjoyed destroying. It was all I really had. "What sets humans apart from the undead is our spirit, our grit, our hope! We do not cower in the dark and hope for an end to it; we reach for the light, we fight and fight and fight until we either achieve greatness or fall trying. We have the will and courage and resolve to do this, no matter what. This time, I brought our resolve to ts climax, making our bid for freedom from your cruel reign. Win or lose, we had to do this. I... had to do this. But... what does it come to, anyway? You're going to kill me now, aren't you?"

Unksor bared his teeth in a wide, nasty smile. "Your words are something else, boy," he hissed. "What fascinating thoughts your kind have. Here I thought I slew mewling weaklings! How wrong I was. Such an insight."

Now, Unksor produced an object from within his cloaks: a glass ball about a foot long. He allowed it to hover in the air between us, casting a small spell on it. "Now, you will gain your own insight. Look into my scry mirror, and watch the downfall of your courageous home! I find this all the sweeter knowing what interesting living things I slay this day."

I wanted to look away but couldn't: an image of my hermitage home shimmered onto the glass surface, with an army of undead, including another undead dragon, swarming in on it from all sides. The image seemed to zoom in on me, until my sight was dominated by the scene as though I were there: destruction, fire, and terror filled my senses as Unksor's forces launched their own siege, this one resulting in the loss of every man, woman, and child alive within those walls. They were exposed like ants in their ruined hill, exterminated and terrorized as the castle fell apart. The undead showed evident delight and thirst for the lives of mortals as they tore at the humans' ranks, enjoying every second of the massacre. As I watched, I felt not fear, not hate, but something else spark within me and begin to swell, growing warmer and thicker. What was that?

"See how it ends, human worm?" Unksor rasped, his foul, icy breath like the breeze of some dark hell. The words he spoke rasped and slithered past jagged and fetid teeth, his cracked and parched lips, formed by his rotten tongue. "Tempt not the fates, lest they tire of you. I know a tale the humans tell, 'The Survivors With and Without Hope.' It is indeed a good lesson for you human rats to learn. One of the best things your puny minds have ever wrought." He laughed again, with a note of finality, as he raised his staff. "Well, it's time to end your little life. Perhaps I could reward your bravery and command by granting you the position of Corpse Commander in my army! Would that not be fitting? What do you say of that, eh?"

Unksor apparently could not detect the energy swelling within me, the white and green strength flooding me. I did not know how I could tell what colors it was, but every nerve within me stated this fact. My breathing got faster, my heart hammered, and my every cell tingled and vibrated with the phenomenon.

"Greet your death!" Unksor roared, and brought his staff down, intending to bash my head in with it. With a thunk, the staff stopped, clear of its target. That was because my hands, shining with the inner power, gripped it tight, resisting Unksor's startling undead strength and mana.

"What...?" Unksor muttered in surprise, struggling to free his staff from my unyielding grip. I began to push it back, and with a cry, sent the end crashing into Unksor's face, sending him flying. He gave a cry as he flew, and as he tumbled and rolled on the necropolis's brick road, coming to a halt a dozen feet away. He struggled to his feet, giving a screech of anger and aggression.

I felt no fear as I strode toward him, the mana within me giving me new power, a power I somehow knew how to wield. Unksor snarled a word and sent a thick jet of purple and black corrupted vis at me, intending to fry his target. I raised a hand, and white mana formed a circular shield, staving off the fierce attack. Unksor fired a second, to no avail; I jumped high into the air, landing heavily before him.

"Die!" Unksor cried wildly. "How dare you resist me?"

It was not use. My hand shot forth, seizing his iron half-mask, seeping my pure mana into it, an exorcism. I felt the memories of what had happened rushing through my mind: the bravery and heroism with which the Iron Corps marched and fought, the duty and responsibility I had for my castle home, my fiancee bearing my unborn child, and the horrific massacre that took place just now. Unksor screamed, the force of my energy and passion overriding his undead defenses.

"Now you pay for every bit of suffering we have suffered under you," I panted, screwing my face in concentration as I did my work. "This is not the end for me, or humanity. It is the end... of evil incarnate, like you!" With a final surge, my mana blasted Unksor into countless shards of mana, scattering like the effects of a firework. The pieces faded into nothing, leaving no trace of the Death Baron that had stood there a minute before.

I fell to my knees, the power still there, but no longer keeping me moving. I stared at the gray, stormy sky, feeling victory and defeat, joy and bitter grief. This was far from anything I had expected, no matter what military scenarios Karjulda or I could work out. I had won, but I had lost. Unksor was destroyed, but the hermitage had gone with him. Had my sacrifice been in vain, or for good? I couldn't answer the questions then, and even now, I can't fully understand what had happened that day, whether within or around me. I mouthed Victoria's name, knowing she was dead, but perhaps when we met in the next world, she would not be upset. She would cherish me all the same in gratitude, just as I cherished her.

I had learned later that the green and white mana was the awakening of my Planeswalker spark, an innate ability that allowed me to traverse the various planes of the Multiverse, from Kamigawa to Lorwyn to Dominaria, and also to wield powerful magic beyond any normal human. I had learned to harness and control this power, allowing it to grow and better myself as a super-mage. However, not all was clear for me. Was I a hero or a false savior? I had asked this myself this many times, until I finally worked out an answer for myself.

Some heroes got the results; they saved worlds, rescued millions of lives, drove evil back to the darkness from which it comes. They are the ones who confront vast evil and defeat it, leaving the masses to eternal gratitude for the great deeds these heroes did. But there was another kind, the kind I invented for myself. I was not fit for defeating the evil myself, I had concluded, but sowed the seeds for hope, victory, and eternal goodness in others. I was a gardener, of sorts, who created and awakened the potential for heroism and goodness in everyone I met, helping the masses of good rise as many and defy the evil that came forth. For many, one. For one, many indeed!

Some laughed at the way I carried myself, a fallen lone hero but a creator of many more. What sort of Planeswalker hero couldn't defeat a Grixis Death Baron, the scoffed? Little did they know what I really wrought against Unksor Rahn's reign: I transformed a huddled mass of victims into a determined, valorous fighting force that died struggling for freedom. What use was power and righteousness, when you lacked te resolve or purpose for using it? I created that purpose, that will to pierce the dark and reach for the light, whether you got it or died reaching.

I couldn't change the face of t Multiverse myself, of course; even as a Planeswalker, I could only do so much. But I still fought, advancing the cause I carried in my heart, remembering the events in my past that drove me to no end. That in itself was an undeniable victory.

Card List

Death Baron (Unksor Rahn)

1BB

Creature – Zombie Wizard

Skeleton creatures you control and other Zombie creatures you control get +1/+1 and have deathtouch.

2/2

Dregscape Zombie

1B

Creature – Zombie

Unearth B

2/1

Skeletal Kathari

4B

Creature – Bird Skeleton

Flying

B, sacrifice a creature: Regenerate Skeletal Kathari

3/2

Crumbling Necropolis

Land

Crumbling Necropolis comes into play tapped

Tap: Add U, B, or R to your mana pool.


End file.
